


Candy from a stranger

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Dom/sub Play, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn With Plot, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission leaves James with too much energy and no way to let it out, M gives him a private advice and a golden card, the access to a club somewhere in down-town London.<br/>He doesn't expect to be interested in a young man of all things, and didn't expect to fall for him of all people...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The last mission hasn't ended well. James had nearly been blown up, had nearly lost his testicles and someone had been suicidal enough to throw himself down a moving train with James cuffed to his wrist - flashback much?

He had got to his mark later, of course, and he had put a bullet through her skull with practised ease,

but there hadn't been enough of... something. No woman to flirt with but the mark, and she had turned out to be lesbian and not interested in a threesome (not that he had asked or suggested that), and as James returned to London, he felt like he should return and blow a fifth hole into her body.

Or a sixth or a seventh.

He didn't care, as long as he would be able to let go and release this energy rushing through his veins like fire. It was hot and made him feel like he was full of adrenaline, and all he could care about was if there was another mission waiting for him, or if he would have to find a solution.

Go somewhere, take a nice lady home and fuck her into the mattress, or drink until he would start seeing everything blurry and when everything would cease to hurt, torture him and when everything would finally make sense. There were several things he could do, but sitting in the cab taking him from the airport to the HQ, he found none appealing.

The thought of sex was anything but enough, he assumed. He wanted to break, to hurt and claim and mark. He wanted to take someone apart and leave her in shards, and maybe return later to do it again. It was something dark and twisted inside him, something so heavy and strong that he had to grip the door handle to keep himself from doing something stupid.

Walking into MI6 with an erection was something he had already done, once, but wasn't keen on repeating it or else he would probably never see his cock again, judging from the ladies reactions. And that would be a shame, wouldn't it?

He tried to think about something else, but it didn't seem to work, no matter how hard he tried.

He never had have to. The hearts and bodies of women came flying to him wherever he went, the urge never having been so strong and unsatisfied like now. He already knew that times have changed, and that it was more likely to be told to fuck off than fuck yes, but there were things a man could dream about and James had always said that a man should be allowed to do what he wanted as long as he didn't hurt someone.

Without the person's consent, naturally. Because once both parties had agreed, there wasn't much holding the beast in the man under control, an agent as experienced as

Bond knew. He had never bothered, there was no need to when you would never meet your bed partner again, and especially not when you knew they would be killed the next day anyway.

Fate, Bond realised, was a very cruel bitch, just like the old M.

And she enjoyed making the women he slept with come only to go later. It was something he could make and win bets about.

Maybe that was the fun about it, he would have sex and know there was no way he would ever walk into the other person again, that he would never see them again. It gave everything a kind of sour taste, one he had come to love and cherish, like an addiction, the sweet and sour taste of death on his tongue whenever he licked over a woman's skin, salty sweat, sweet promises and perfume, and the scent of death and tragedy.

His life would make an interesting novel, which probably would be taken down the salary lists immediately. Too much porn, not enough plot.

He smirked, leaning back into the seat, watching the city lights of London pass, cars, people of the night out to clubs and out to get drunk and get sex. He felt a bit jealous, a tiny sting of envy, but he ignored it again and focused on the path they drove, tapping an impatient melody on his own knee.

It wasn't hard to focus on the task ahead as the car stopped and he got out, the cold and chilly air of London welcoming him once again on its land. James sighed, tugged the collar of his coat up and went inside, wishing he could fly back to Spain again where it had been wonderfully warm, with beautiful women and delicious alcohol.

He easily found his way into M's office, it wasn't hard to miss with Tanner practically dragging him along like he didn't trust Bond to walk alone, or not disappear somewhere in Q-branch to scare the minions and steal their coffee.

There were many acceptable things, but stealing the minion's coffee? A crime worth the worst punishment, as Bond could say from personal experience. Being forced to buy their coffee for a month without any missions to use as a way out was quite boring, and had actually been quite expensive.

Money, though, was something James was willing to spend. He had more than enough, could die any moment, a bullet through the skull, a knife through his chest or cutting open his throat, an explosion or hands around his throat, he wasn't immortal and certainly didn't want to be. So why hording his money like he would have someone to spend it for?

M was already waiting for him, bandage on his arm gone, a bottle of scotch and two glasses standing on his desk. James entered and ignored the polite greeting, instead just sat down and tried not to think about tearing M's spine out of his body through his mouth and smacking him with it on the head.

"Please, take some scotch, double-oh-seven."

James raised an eyebrow. "Giving me alcohol during a debrief? Now that is a new methode I do agree with." 

He reached out to the bottle, feeling the coldness of glass and liquid under his fingers as he poured himself some, the rush of adrenaline and something twisted making James feel caged inside this room. 

"Off records, sir?" 

M gave a light nod, more of a tilt of his head, fingers drumming on the edge of his desk, James' eyes fixed on them, prepared to leap at him and wrestle a gun out of his hands.

He needed to get laid, or else he would probably end up killing a minion or someone in H-branch. 

"Your mission hasn't been as satisfying as the previous ones, has it?" James grunted in reply, downing another glass. "It is obvious, before you feel the need to ask. Especially for someone who..." M smirked. "Has never been out in field before." 

James only looked at his superior in impatience, knuckles white in his grip around the glass. M sighed, taking something out of his jacket and placing it in the middle of the desk, the sound reminding James of a gun's safety being released. 

It was a golden card, tiny in comparison to a credit card, too tiny for an ID or security device, nothing out of the ordinary written on it, not their emergency word of the month, nor any plea for help or hidden message. An ordinary, golden card, with the name of something written in the top left corner, an address on the right side in the middle, and a bar code on the bottom, back side. 

James picked it up, smelling perfume and cologne on it. It wasn't M's, nor his wife's. 

"Their club offers several services and is highly paid by MI6 and other Military Intelligence sections who all set very high value on... discretion." 

Bond frowned. "A sex club?" 

"More of an... amusement house. Some might say it's a knocking shop. I think we both know what it is, double-oh-seven."

"Do you want to set me up with a whore, sir? How very noble of you."

M gave some kind of smile, faked or not, Bond couldn't tell, but he didn't like it, not at all. "I want to prevent you from killing any of my workers or agents, double-oh-seven, and I know you are on the edge of going on a murdering spree within these walls", he pointed at the card with a wave of his hand, waggling with his eyebrows, "They won't let you enter without this card. If you take an advise and aren't averse to company of another gender you normally are used to, ask for Q."

James automatically thought about their Quartermaster, an elderly man with grey hair, always running around in his lab coat - the thought anything **but** appealing. He might or might not have pursed his lips, because M sighed.

"He too is a Quartermaster, but of a different kind. His toys aren't deadly, and I do think he might be what you need."

James leant forward, fingertips brushing over the card, and he felt the urge to take it and put it away, somewhere where no one could take it away. "And what do I need, sir?"

"Someone to control, break, and put together again, double-oh-seven", M answered almost immediately, glance deadly and cold, but James calmly returned it with a control he didn't have and never had, "Someone vulnerable, weak, no femme fatale. Did you ever have sex with a man, double-oh-seven?"

"Yes."

M huffed, amused. "But never with a male lolita. A body like a boy, giving it another taste of a bittersweet fruit."

"You sound like you too enjoyed his services, sir, if you don't mind me saying."

"You can put two and two together, double-oh-seven, I gave you the card to the club and gave you a name with a suggestion and advise. One does not need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that."

James was silent for a few moments, wondering if the walk of shame tomorrow would be worth the relief and experience. He could not recall the last time since he had entered a knocking shop, at least not out of private reasons and not because of a mark or a target to seduce. Before his mind realised the action, he had already put the card away in his chest pocket, M giving him a smile, like a snake.

"That is all, double-oh-seven. Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you, sir", Bond said without turning around, leaving the room and building with quick steps, trying to convince himself that he wasn't hurrying nor running.

He tried to convince himself during the ride that he wasn't this desperate, that he could have survived without this, that he would just have got drunk and that he didn't need Mallory's help nor advise, but the more he thought about it, the more he got curious about the club which made M cheat on his wife - though she might as well know it, who knew about what kind of bedroom activities the current M favoured.

He had expected some old, abandoned old house, smelling and in the lowest area of London, but instead he found a big buiding with seven exits, twenty windows and security cameras all over the place.

The entrance hall reminded him of a hotel, with pictures framed on the wall, naked women dancing on a stage or in cages, men posing for photographs, famous guests with signatures underneath their grinning faces next to a picture of a woman tied against a bed with ropes, her legs spread and glance as dirty as her skin covered in glitter and strange fabric.

He considered to turn around and leave, but the card was already here and he didn't want to have wasted the gas for nothing.

"New here?", the woman behind the reception, blue dress, black hair, dark skin and red lipgloss, eyes all dark and cat-like, asked as he approached her, manicured hand already reaching out to his card as he offered it to her.

"Is that so obvious, Misses...", he leant against the reception desk and winked at her, deciding that a bit of flirting couldn't hurt. Maybe he could go with her instead, she had nice legs, promising and appeared to be stronger than she might have looked.

"Miss Moneypenny. Are you a friend of Mister Mallory's? This is his card, a special one, very expensive, for regulars." She gave him a charming smile, nails tapping against the golden form of the card, scratching over the words there. "May I ask your name?"

"Bond. James Bond. And I am a... colleague, you might say. He advised this place, and told me to go see Q?"

Her eyes lit up, pupils dilating lightly. He was interested, and curious. "Our Quartermaster, I see. Mister Mallory remembers his favourites very well." She typed away on her computer, impossibly fast for someone with such long fingernails, more suited to scratch eyes out and leave bloody marks on heated skin. "He is free at the moment, room seventeen, go inside, then to the corridor on the right, third door."

He already was about to go and see what this fuss was about, but her voice stopped him. "No diseases or anything of that kind I assume?" He shook his head, turning his head in her direction to see an amused smile. "Weapons?"

"Oh my, why would I come here armed?"

Her expression told him tales about the place's history, about what they allowed here and why so many agents liked it here. He only raised an eyebrow and disappeared behind the curtain, stepping into a corridor which was quiet, almost deadly. His hand ghosted over the gun hidden underneath his jacket, his eyes looking out for potential threats.

The sounds of moans and cries he had expected weren't there. The dirty ground, covered in liquids he didn't want to know about, was missing too, his shoes not making a single sound on the dark, blood-red carpet as he looked out for the third door, number seventeen.

James wasn't alone in the room as he entered it, a man - no, he corrected himself, young man or boy - sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed, typing something on a tablet faster with one hand than James would be with two.

Curly hair fell in his face, giving him something adorable and innocent, too big eyes, green and brown depending on the light, too big glasses, and skin as pale as snow. He was slender, _fragile_ , _breakable_ , bony and tall, not as tall as Bond probably but it was enough.

He wore a cardigan, underneath it a white shirt, a tie, some kind of trousers and no shoes, but black socks. He held a tablet in one hand, a cup with a 'Q' and the number '10' on it in the other. The room smelled of Earl Grey, sex, sweat and the combination made heat built up in James' lower stomach and the dark feeling return, eyes narrowed as he stepped closer.

The boy finally looked up as James closed the door, red and swollen lips - bite marks on the lower, he had been _chewing_ on it like some cheap porn star - curled in a smirk, one of the kind James wanted to kiss and bite away. He put the tablet and sat up completely, more wisps of his hair falling into his face.

"Ah, you must be Mister James Bond", he said, voice posh and deep, and James would kill to hear him scream and moan as James broke him apart, "My name is Q. I am your Quartermaster."


	2. Chapter 2

Q, not a name James would have associated with a prostitute or whore, but brave new world. Charming, blonde women with large breasts and a husky voice replaced by young men in cardigan, clearly playing on his appearance, matching a boy and not a man.

James couldn't see any stubble on his jaw nor on his cheeks, clear shaved, skin probably smooth.

Someone, whoever was on top of this, cared for his workers, kept them in good conditions despise what the customers might do with them. James searched for bite marks, anything out of the ordinary, but the man in front of him might as well have been straight from Q-branch, or any ordinary IT-business.

Nerdy, geeky, with a strange but interesting sense of fashion and messy hair, combed back though so there was a bit of playroom up. Long enough to tuck on it, to pull and use as a way to move the man's head like he wanted him to be. Red, swollen lips which would look lovely around James' cock, everything in him making James want to claim, fuck and mark.

It was this moment that Q chose to take his tablet again, scrolling and opening something.

"It is in your and my interest that you listen to the terms and conditions of this arrangement, Mister Bond-", Q paused, looking up with a raised eyebrow, something rebellious shining behind his calm, cold eyes, "Or do you wish me to call you something else?"

"James", said Bond immediately, his marks always called him James once they were in bed, no need for names, titles and numbers when all they cared about was sex and relief. "James is enough."

Q nodded, and for a moment he looked bored as he sighed, scrolling down again. "You are allowed to do everything you want, except for leaving any serious and permament injuries, broken bones, cuts, or anything else which doesn't heal within a day or two. You are to return the equipment" - He made a bored gesture to himself- "in one piece and without any damage. If you wish to stay here for the night, you are free to, however not longer than seven am when the shift is over. If you do anything against those terms and conditions, you are under no protection of your workplace, our house and will be forced into trial, if prefered the situation will be considered as peacefully solved in a private environment with an appropriate amount of money for the damage and/or troubles."

Q put the tablet away after turning it off, putting it in the middle drawer of the bedside table. James figured that condoms, lube and other things he would need were in the top one, but there was time to look at it later.

"There is more I should tell you, about how you are to consider me as a human being and not a breathing and moving sex puppet, about how you should be careful and _yada yada yada_." Q leant back, his head resting against the headboard and legs crossed, almost comfortably.

James swallowed a growl and finally took his jacket off, the male-whore just kindly looking at him like he was the one paying and not Bond - practically he wasn't, but that was of no importance now. He threw his jacket on the nearest chair, then began to undo his tie, staring back into those green-ish eyes focused on him.

"But we both know that this isn't what you are here for. You're working for MI6, aren't you?" As James frowned at him, Q gave a roll of his eyes and James felt the urge to smack him. "We are given a ridiculously high amount of money to stay silent. As if the world would care about M liking to be spanked while his wife is watching and pleasing herself."

James raised an eyebrow, storing this information away for future use. Q sat up and shifted, legs tugged under his body as he got closer, nearly on the edge of the bed. "I'm an agent, yes."

Q made a clicking noise with his tongue, reaching out to James' hand and stopping him from undoing his belt. "Allow me. Your superior pays for this, so you might as well enjoy his money, mmh?"

Q leant forward, bony, spider-like fingers undoing James' belt with practised ease, brushing the other's crotch as if to test if he already was hard. James was, and it started to hurt.

"Besides, you are making me feel _bored_."

Bored? James reached out and gripped a handful of Q's hair, tucking at the curls to make him look up. He found himself staring into calm, sparkling green eyes, full of mischief, sassiness and everything James wanted to fuck out of him. He wanted to thrust into his willing body and leave _marks_ , wanted to make him sob and beg for it.

Something made Q's eyes appear darker. _Come to me and play._

_See if you can break me._

James began to realise why Mallory had told him to come to this man and not a woman or someone else, began to understand why him and not someone else. Because this boy here?

He was a challenge.

And James had always loved a challenge, loved to make confident people beg for it like they would die without it. They never could resist him, they fought and tried, but then the temptation got too strong and though they felt the danger, felt how wrong it was - they couldn't stop themselves.

This boy wouldn't be any different.

Keeping his hand in Q's hair, James reached out with his other hand, fingertips trailing over the younger man's jaw - no stubble, incredibly well-shaved for a whore - and gripping his chin a bit too strongly, feeling how something in the man's eyes faded and was replaced by something else.

James had no name for either, but he had better things to do.

"How good are you in sucking cock, boy?", James asked, voice husky, deep and rough, betraying how much he needed this, his desperation also visible in his eyes, dark like the ocean before the storm, and a constant chanting of _breakclaimfucktakemine_ in his head.

It was something he hadn't thought in a while, but it had been at least a month since his last encounter with a mark, so he had an excuse for this rather... animalistic behaviour of his.

"Depends on how much cock you have to suck, _James_."

The posh accent of the young man made James think about his time at Eton, where every rich, intelligent bastard of some professor or business man had taken it up his arse at least once, and for once their ridiculous emphasis of the letter 'r' forgotten when they screamed and moaned like little bitches too needy to care about what Daddy had told them about language and washing out their mouths afterwards.

James almost smirked at the thought. Washed out their mouths they had, but not with soap and water, the liquid had been milky regardless.

"You have a big mouth for someone who gets paid to behave like I want him to", James commented, letting go of the man's jaw to zip open and pull out his throbbing cock, not being able to remember the last time he had been so desperately hard.

"Well then I am lucky I won't need the full width of my mouth for you, aren't I?"

Before he could say anything else, and make James want to push his head against the headboard until he would _bleed_ , James tucked on his hair again and pushed him forward, smearing precum across Q's lips and cheek.

Q held still, knowing that he had to wait, perfectly calm with his hands folded in his lap, on his knees with his glasses slightly misplaced, not as high on his nose as before. He smirked, parting his lips a bit and sticking the tip of his tongue out, letting it brush over the heated flesh of James' shaft.

James hissed through gritted teeth and tugged on Q's hair to hold him still, earning a silent chuckle coming out of the prostitute's mouth, but he closed his lips again.

"Only the tip", James said quietly, guiding the tip to Q's lips and smearing more precum over his face, before stopping his movements and rolling his hips forward just slightly.

Q opened his mouth immediately and allowed the tip to slide into his mouth, before he wrapped his lips around it and began to suck. He made a highly obscene noise around James' cock, darting his tongue out to lick over the head and swallowing the precum, making James' spine shudder in his body and his eyes flutter, tempted to fall closed.

Q hummed, hollowing his cheeks and the began to suck, enthusiastically using teeth, tongue and vibrations.

James tried to keep his hips still, but he couldn't stop himself from pushing forward and forcing Q to take more, the younger man parting his lips more and letting the cock slide into his mouth, until the head bumped against the back of his mouth, right where his throat was.

For a moment, James could feel Q fight, swallowing - _gulping_ \- around the cock and closing his eyes, and James could feel something twitch and it made him grin.

He was fighting off the gag reflex, and something inside James growled in pride and something dark, because he wanted Q to gag and tear up because of him.

So he pulled out a bit only to thrust in, and the noise Q made, desperate, nearly a surprised gasp, sent a shiver through the agent's body.

He didn't know what the rules said about nearly making the 'equipment' gag and nearly throw up, but he hasn't been informed about that so it wouldn't be his fault. Besides, he didn't plan on killing the prostitute, he only wanted to fuck this smugness out of him and make him cry for it.

He pulled out after a few moments, the loud pop loud in the silence of the room. Q looked up at James and raised an eyebrow, eyes even more swollen than before, cum shining on his cheek in the light of the lamp right above their heads.

"Still convinced that you don't need your whole mouth?", James asked dryly, cock still leaking precum, but he had enough experience to control himself and to last for _a hell of a time_.

"Shut up", Q rolled his eyes, leaning forward.

He wrapped a hand around the shaft of James' cock, right in front of his balls, and took the rest into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and beginning to suck slowly, but with experience.

He did something with his tongue, a twirl or a dance James couldn't tell, but it made him see sparkles and made him push forwards with his hips in the need of more.

Burying his hand in Q's hair, he pulled on it, messed it up, yanking Q forward and deeper down until his face was pressed against James' hip, nose burried in his pubic hair.

As Q began to suck, getting quicker and using teeth to let them graze over the heated, red flesh, James let go of himself, shoulders sinking down and tension leaking out of his shoulders.

He would enjoy the time here, for a certain.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop."

James took a bit of pride in the way Q immediately did as he was told, stoppin in his sucking and biting, simply breathing in and out through his nose while having James' cock down his throat.

It showed him that the little whore slowly followed his commands and did what he was being paid for, and it also gave James a bit more room up. It was quite hard to work with a prostitute when said didn't do as ordered.

He drew away, hearing the _pop_ as he forced Q to part his lips and lean back again, and the elder had to smirk as he saw how Q's lips were swollen, red, and shining with pre-come.

"Strip."

Q raised an eyebrow, reaching out to his cardigan and pulling it over his head.

James saw the glimpse of white flesh as his shirt moved up a bit, smooth and unmarked, no scars nor bruises or marks someone before James had left. Q took a deep breath, began to unbutton his shirt, never breaking eye contact with James.

"Bossy, aren't we?"

James nearly huffed, but being the gentleman he was he gripped Q's hair and forced him to lay his head back, exposing his throat.

"I could kill you within the blink of an eye, with my hands only. Yet you apparently seem to try and make your life miserable", James all but growled out, trailing the carotid and feeling Q's quickening pulse.

"Miserable?", Q repeated, obviously not very impressed by James' display of power and threat.

James liked him more and more. He even considered going back here in a few months or years, just to break down this wall of self-confidence and snarkiness again. It was interesting, to meet someone who didn't fall into his arms right away, and it was even more interesting that this person was a whore.

"I'll break you."

Q snorted. "I'd like to see you try."

Well, what else could James do but accept the challenge?

Spinning Q around, James threw him on the bed and pinned him down, hands on the headboard and thin, bony fingers grasping the wood in a tremor. James licked his lips, then ripped Q's shirt off.

He could see every single bone through Q's skin, every muscle move and flex as Q rolled his shoulders with a light almost not-audible _crack_. James' ears picked up on it anyway, and he smirked.

"Can I mark you?", he grunted out as he worked on Q's trousers, annoyed by the fact that the prostitute didn't help him.

"If you mean hickeys, go ahead."

"I'm surprised."

"By?"

James leant down and moved his lips along Q's neck, down his shoulders over bones, and he let his teeth graze over the prostitute's skin anything but carefully. He bit down, drawing the hitch of breath from Q and making him shudder.

"You didn't make any kind of comment."

Q was rolling his eyes, James could _hear_ it, and he punished him by biting harder, tasting blood.

"That's not a hickey", Q stated dryly, wriggling underneath James to probably get more comfortable, but James didn't let him.

"Well, I think that's open for interpretation."

Drawing away, James watched in fascination as a few drops of blood ran down the smooth white skin of the younger man, and he licked them away. For a moment James wondered about how many times Q had been bitten before, how often he was fucked and claimed and if he was a favourite or not.

For a moment he wanted to know, because he felt a sting of possessiveness and didn't know why.

He blamed the desperation he felt, and the urges and the need to fuck, so he pushed the thoughts away and pulled Q's trousers down.

Slim, woman-like hips, bones shining through, and James gripped them knowing that they would bruise, be red or blue or green tomorrow. He wondered if Q had any customers tomorrow evening, and how quickly his skin would recover.

For now, he thought, Q was his.

His to bruise, to hurt, break and fuck, and he wanted to make him scream and whine. He wanted to hurt, and he was going to, because Q was being paid for that and nothing else.

He was nothing but a tool. An object.

His grip tightened and he felt Q gasp, knuckles going white as he tried to keep on holding onto the headboard.

"Do you need preparation?", James asked, because even though he did want to hurt, he wasn't that cruel and wasn't stupid enough to risk any anal damage, not when all the boy had was his arse and his swollen lips.

Q shook his head and James frowned.

Somehow the boy managed to turn around and with raised eyebrows he got rid of his pants, before he lifted his hips and showed James his arse.

There, stretching his arse wide open in preparation, glittering in lube, was a dildo, black and big. James reached out, trailing a finger over the end sticking out before pushing it in deeper.

Q's body shook and he let out a strangled cry, eyes fluttering and lips parting in a moan. James blinked, expression going dark. He had known that Q's voice was beautiful, but his moan was like music, and it made James want to make him scream to know what it sounded like.

"Would I have known that someone like you comes in today I would have taken a size tinier", Q stated and gave a wiggle of his eyebrows, and James did like he wanted and slapped him.

The shape of a red hand formed on Q's cheek and there was fury, burning fire, in those green eyes as their glances met, but it faded again and Q was still.

"Shut it", James mumbled and with a quick, rough movement he pulled the dildo out and pushed three fingers inside Q to keep him open as he threw his own trousers on the ground, shirt and vest going off too. "I want to hear you scream."

Q's eyes spoke of so much James couldn't graps, of emotions hidden behind coldness behind pain and a mask, giving the boy something James tried to name or label, tried to find a name for, but every thought was fading as he took his fingers out again and pushed inside Q with his cock.

He was warm, stretched but still tight, and as James felt him clutch around him he saw stars, sparkling and shining. James closed his eyes for a moment, before snapping them open once more, thrusting in roughly.

Q cried out and let his hands fall to the side, desperately searching for something to grip onto and burying his fingers in the duvets underneath their bodies.

James let his hips roll forward only to pull out nearly completely, ramming into Q's willing body without any sentiment of mercy or care about his state or condition.

He only was mercyfull enough to take off Q's glasses, put them on the bedside-table and give him a second to breathe in, before he settled a rhythm normal people would break under, knowing the boy couldn't walk tomorrow without being in pain or reminded of what James had done to him.

Each thrust made Q moan, and as James hit his prostate he screamed, a sound like angels and demons, and a sound which made James growl.

He pushed in deeper, until his hips were pressed against Q's and their chests too. He leant down and claimed Q's lips in a kiss, leaving teeth marks on the lower lip of the whore.

For several minutes, no noises but Q's moaning and screaming and James' grunting filled the silence in the room, but then James reached out and wrapped his hand around the tinier cock of Q and gave firm tucks.

With a loud cry, the whore came and spilled come all over James' hand and stomach, and James followed him moments after, shooting up cum into the boy and making him clutch in a gasp.

James pulled out immediately and turned, deciding to check what was in the top drawer of the desk.

Q lay next to him on the bed and took deep breaths, watching James through glassy, darkened eyes. His glance was sharp and made James wonder about why he was here, but then James couldn't care and simply opened the drawer.

There was a dildo, and a few toys James eyed in mild surprise, because he hadn't figured that they would allow that kind of thing here.

He took out a pair of cuffs, knowing he would easily be able to break them but Q would not, and then something which needed batteries - a vibrator probably, or a plug.

He put the cuffs around Q's wrists and pinned him up on the headboard, forcing him on his stomach and his legs apart, and what followed was at least half an hour of teasing, of pushing the dildo in and out without caring, making Q moan and squirm and cry out, such beautiful noises for a creature as dirty as a prostitute.

He fucked him the whole night, and into the morning.

It was bright as James rolled on his side to face the window, light falling into the room, far too bright for his eyes. James blinked a few times, then looked down on the sleepy form of Q next to him.

Curled up into himself, with his long limbs and pale skin, covered in bruises, marks of teeth and fingers, and covered in dried come.

It was a beautiful, angelic sight. James wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair, but he didn't and simply stood up, stretching.

He felt sore and his muscles ached as he put on his clothes, aware that Q was awake and watching him through a half-opened eye but not caring. He had done his job, that was it.

James would never see him again.

He put on his jacket and took out his wallet, deciding to be nice. He put a bit of money on the bed, then turned around, feeling Q's glance in his back.

James left feeling something twisting inside him and howling, trying to make him turn around again. He wanted to go back to the bed and take Q again, or make the boy wrap his lips around James' cock.

Looking down on the card in his hand, James put it back into his pocket a he walked past Moneypenny, ignoring the way she raised an eyebrow and ignoring her polite 'Until next time, Mister Bond.'

Mallory was a married man, he didn't need to go to a place like this. He didn't need the card.

James was doing him a favour.

Going to his car, he opened it and sat down, turning his back to this whorehouse for what he thought was the last time.

It was a month later that he went back, fucking Q into the mattress and making him scream out.

It was another month after that that he came back again, and it was three weeks after that, until he dropped by every time after a mission, sleeping less and less with women on missions - those beautiful, dangerous femme fatales, with their smokey eyes, red lips and long dresses hiding nothing - but with Q.

Two years after he had first visited the house and first had met Q, he woke up next to the pale, boy-ish man and had to smile.

It was two years after he first had taken Q that James realised he had fallen for a whore, for a young boy calling himself Q, and that he was in love.

James groaned and turned around, burrying his face in the pillow to mute his _fuck_.

If Q had heard it, he politely ignored it and stayed silent, probably because he wasn't able to move much.


End file.
